


Butterflies and Gods

by dciphoenix



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Fairy Tale Style, Falling In Love, First Love, First Time, Fragile Loki, Friendship/Love, Graceful Thor, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Jealous Loki (Marvel), Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Loki as a snake, Loki in snake form, Loki taught reader magic powers, Loss of Virginity, Love, Pre-Thor (2011), Reader Insert, Reader has magic powers, Second person POV, Set in Asgard, Step mom frigga, frigga mother in law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dciphoenix/pseuds/dciphoenix
Summary: You and Loki are in a relationship with each other. You are a lady born to a noble Asgardian house and are to wed to a certain Prince......Will be novelette size..Only my first 2nd person POV I have written, so bear with me!





	1. Tricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Justin.

You score your nails down his chest and his stomach muscles flex accordingly, with arms tied above his head, his back arches. “Was I supposed to feel that?” He says, smirking down at you and he tips his head back and looks down his nose to get a good look at you.

“Your body betrays you, dear.” You smirk back, too proud for your own good. “I know you felt that.” You bend down to kiss him, hot and wet and charitable.

“Getting rather ahead of ourselves aren't we, hmm?” He wets his lips and you feel your heart quicken in your ribcage. Wondering if he did it on purpose. You also wonder if he did that so you'd question yourself. Enraged, blood hot, you reach over and yank the ends to the cords around his wrists one after the other in quick succession. He gasps, from shock or pain you could not tell which and he looks at you with a toxic mix of respect and lust. Someone as cruel as he? What a potent mix.

You feel him rut against you, and it makes you smile despite yourself. Nude, with the Trickster at your mercy. Practically at your feet. Such a sweet thing, that you would only have seen in your dreams.

slowly, you move against him, feeling him harden. Why bother meeting if you were not to indulge? Sensing you've changed track, he clears his throat and pulls at his bonds. You hear them creak around the bedposts and this causes you to look up. You stop your movements.

“Please?” He asks, face devoid of any agenda. “I wish to feel you.” He whispers, half to you, half to himself.

Exhaling, you wave your hand to the bonds, in a “get away” gesture. Still mounted on the Prince, you watch as the bonds flicker and die in a green hue almost as if they were never there at all.

You drag your eyes from the headboard to his eyes. Loki lowers his arms onto the bed for a second before sighing, reaching his fingertips across your thigh, he crawls them to your hip, then around to your backside, holding you in place.

Forwards and back, he rubs himself against you, earning a hiss of pleasure out of you. You were no virgin, especially with him, but he still treated you with the same respect during your couplings.

You slip a hand between you both and guide him right to where you wanted him. You both inhale sharply when he fills you, you're usually much wetter when he first enters you. You groan, shooting out a hand to steady yourself on him, you buck your hips and take in the rest of him.

Resisting the urge to bite your lip, you grit your teeth when you start to move, like a piston, he moves with you, holding onto you, his wrists disappear behind you. He starts to fondle your backside, and his eyes glitter. Playing with his prize. The way you're both positioned, his pubic bone rubs deliciously against your sweet bundle of nerves.  
It doesn't take you long to finish him, as well as yourself.

You watch his wrist still firmly on your behind, wondering what he had in mind. When you feel his other hand find your face, you blush. You loved how gentle he was with you, whereas he was not with others. His hand spans your whole chin when he tilts it up, fingers tangled in your hair.

He kisses you, warm and sweet. Slides his hands down to your armpits, he pulls you up in his arms, so you were kneeling before him, your legs like jelly. Mirroring each other.

“I'm glad you're here with me, instead of him.” He murmurs.

Your brows knit together. His voice distant in your mind, fighting to be heard amongst the fog of your earlier orgasm. “What? Why would I be with him? He's only my betrothed.” You grin.

Loki shakes his head in utter disbelief. “You're to wed him.” He reminds you.

“But I don't love him.” You reply back, proud, in all your naked glory, feeling like you were heading an army. Emphasising the word “love” on your tongue.

He pauses, and his eyes harden, something obviously troubling him. “It must be getting harder for you to sneak out at night.”

“You let me worry about that.” You shuffle forwards on the bed until you're chest to chest. Looking through you like you were a ghost, he feels his way around your ribs, drifting down to your backside again. He grabs a handful of it.

**

It's close to dawn when you awaken. Loki has curled himself around you during his slumber. Protecting your body with his own. You reach to curl a strand of his inky hair around his ear before touching his cheek. His skin always as cold as winter.

You get up, finding your gown where you had tossed it the night before. Throwing it on, you do up the ribbons and ties. Slipping into your shoes, you press a quick kiss to his cheek, pulling up the bed sheets and furs around him before you depart.

You quickly find your room, slipping in the door before anyone can see you or pass on they have seen you during the night hours.

Swiftly disrobing your gown on the nearest chair, you slide into the golden covers of yours and your lovers bed. He snores loudly, allowing you to know you have not disturbed him.

Tossing your hair over one shoulder, you fake a wide yawn, accidentally on purpose brushing his face with the back of your hand. He stirs, waking almost immediately. “I'm sorry, my Prince. I had awful dreams.” you tell him. Lies being less visible on your face as of late.

He grins widely, pleased to see you. “Nay, you have nothing to apologise for,” Hair the colour of sunlight and eyes the shade of the deepest oceans, Thor kisses you. “Now tell me of these dreams.”


	2. A coiled serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as how I got such amazing feedback, I decided to continue, it was only supposed to be a one-shot, ya know! :P
> 
> Addendum: only five months till Infinity War! Everyone excited!? XD

Chapter Two 

Life in Asgard starts early. The farmers and stable hands are commonly up first, you were usually awoken gently by the general hubbub of cattle punctuated here and there by the blacksmith's hammer and chisel. The black plume of smoke from his work could be seen for miles when you lived in the residential district of Asgard, instead of her palace and yet, you still think about fanciful things as that. 

The light breeze catches your hair, as rays from the generous sun warm your face in the early hours of the day. You sit in one of the palace’s many gardens, both inside and out at the same time. Only reachable by royalty and their closest and most trusted of people. People like you. 

Finding yourself a comfy spot, the steps into the courtyard garden, a beige, sandy colour, brightened by the sunlight. You open your book, a black leather bound tome on horticulture. You'd recently gotten to the part describing horticulture and herbal remedies. 

Feverfew relieves mild headaches while peppermint and ginger root reduces nausea when sick and in the stages of pregnancy. Wondering if the author crosses the line between magic and basic apothecary, you flicker through the next few pages, the author beginning to describe the application of bread poultices. 

You deflate slightly, wondering if there was books out there, perhaps written by someone as such as yourself. Maybe someone on the road to developing a love potion, you smile to yourself, then disappear it from your face, disappointed at thinking such a thing. Why would you need one? Your mind starts to double its usual speed of thought, trying to banish any more such thoughts.

When something moves at the corner of your eye, a lithe thing, no more thicker than a twig in a forest. The colour of midnight, it slithers its way towards you, tongue darting out to taste the air around it. 

Turning your head, you announce, “Hello, Liesmith,” reaching out your hand to greet him. No more surprised than if he were to stroll past, in his human form. You offer your upturned palm and he rears back, as if deducing. His tongue darts again, baring his fangs this time, almost in a smile. Loki slithers his way up your arm, passing the crook of your elbow and your shoulders. 

He brushes the nape of your neck sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, a touch only a lover would make. You shut your eyes, trapping your book on a finger. Continue feeling him making himself at home, he drapes himself there like a shawl you might wear to a celebration.

Any other snake would have sunk its ivory fangs into your neck by now and extinguished your little life like a mere candle flame. 

“I wish you were here with me,” you sigh, stroking the thin skin of the snake's throat with your thumb. “The official announcement of the royal engagement is tomorrow. Will you be wearing anything nice?” You say, giving him a fuss. 

Loki, the snake, merely blinks.

“I haven't decided what to wear.” You say and your hand stills unlike your thoughts, racing. Exhaling heartedly, you search his almond eyes, knowing you'd find nothing .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I used a fabulous site called http://www.fantasynamegenerators.com which is where I snagged the awesome title for this story, so if you're a writer as well as a reader, I would really recommend that site for inspiration and help etc! Thanks for reading this far! :)


	3. Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinity War gave me writer's block. I couldn't sleep or eat right for days but I've finally got myself out of my depression and decided to finish off this chapter.

You retire from the ball before the rest of the palace’s inhabitants, throwing your wrap on the bed, leaving it in a screwed colourful heap, no matter. 

You reach the lip of the vanity, taking off the various jewels and baubles gifted to you by your husband to be. Heaving out a breath, you wonder where Loki could have gotten to. Naturally, he kept a fair distance from you all night, only catching each others eye where those of others were otherwise distracted. He had engaged you in polite, social conversation, asked of that by a Prince as such as he.

Thor, on the other hand, kept a tight grip on you for the evening and paraded you around like a proud hunter and you, his slain creature.

Lifting your head, you look around your humble quarters, both Thor’s and Loki’s were bigger than your own, but it never fazed you, you were marrying into royalty, whereas they were bound to it by blood.  
You hadn’t spent a great deal of time in your own bedchambers for some time, usually falling asleep in the arms of one Prince or the other. 

Drawn to the window, an open, gaping thing, where you could observe the whole of Asgard if you so wished. Pretend to be the Guardian of the Bifrost, if it pleased you. You smile at the thought. Heimdall would know of yours and Loki's… meetings. The Watcher of all. Watches even that which bares him little interest.

It's a wonder why he hadn't told of your relationship. Though, you bore the Guardian no ill will and as long as you never did anything to outright endanger Asgard or her people. He would say nothing. 

Or so you thought. 

The latch on the door has your heart jumping into your mouth and the world spins for a split second. 

His crown is gone. But he still looks magnificent, regal. Very much a Prince. 

Loki crosses the room, comes up behind you as silent as a shadow. He looks at you like he might devour you like he owns time. Here in his little sanctuary where he can't be disturbed. Where you can't be wrenched from his grasp by offensive hands. 

He presses himself to you like he’d been wanting you all night. Making up for lost time. 

His lips are cold but pleasurable and you find yourself surrendering to them. 

“Am I a good secret lover to you? Better than that worthless prince who pays you no mind, hmm?” He whispers alternating between kissing your neck and slightly biting your ears.

He really shouldn’t ask questions you know he already has the answers to. “You already know you are,” you croon, as he sneaks his fingers inside the front of your dress, kept up by the intricate fastenings your handmaid had helped you into. As well as your figure. “One thing I can’t figure out is why would you be wearing such a dress tonight? Designed in a way to benefit the person behind you, rather than the object of your affections in front of you. Hmm?” He wasn’t wrong. Floor length and wholesome at it was, black, yet iridescent in a certain light, filling it with splendid shades of golds and greens. The top of the dress boned and peppered with green glass beads, the back, open from coccyx to nape open and showing your slender, smooth bare back and neck.

Slipping his hands in the flimsy barely-there material. His firm hands find your breasts, sliding his fingers around your pert nipples. Momentarily finding yourself unable to answer, he may as well have wrapped those long fingers around your throat.

Gasping softly you twist your arm round to grab his arm, your fingernails creak into the thick leather. “Because I wasn't wearing it for him.” You mutter back in a lower tone, fearing the walls could talk of your secrets. “Did you notice the colours?” You mutter. 

“I did.” You hear the smile in his voice. “You shouldn't, you know. Someone might notice.” He says, a little stern, almost worried. 

You clench and relax your jaw, it feeling open and empty somehow. Your back straightens and you reply, “I wanted you to notice.”

He pauses, then says. “I always notice.” Loki clears his throat, obviously not comfortable with prolonged honesty. “I should tear this thing off you, you know? Force you to walk back to your room naked, for all to see, ashamed.” 

Incredulous, you turn around and glare at him. “Oh. You won't do that...” You reply, chin raised. Every conversation was a battle and after every time had you wondering who was the victor. 

His forehead creases slightly when he lifts his brow, defiant. “Why the Hel not?” 

“One single fact, Liesmith. For tonight, I’m yours.” 

His eyes soften at your words. 

“Also, has Thor ever seen me nude? Well, there was one time. The maid forgot to shut the door the one time when they dressed me...but that’s not my point.” 

Beneficently, he breathes out a laugh. “Had Thor ever lain with me?” You ask and urge an answer with a slight incline of your head. 

“No?” He says almost shyly.

“No.” You take his hands in yours. “He hasn’t.”

Loki's lips part. And you know you have him right where you want him.

…….

The candlelight reflects off his face making him look boyish. Innocent.  
He snakes an arm around your waist, while you both sleep like you'd slink away if he wasn't touching you. Small victories, your mind decides for itself. Loki enjoys having you with him even if you barely spoke two words to one another other. Simply because if you were with him. With Thor, you were not. 

“Can I ask you something?” You say.

He grunts in reply and you pinch his side. 

Loki opens his eyes and looks at you. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s worried, uncertain. Your mouth refuses to work for a minute. Breathing and speaking becoming too much of an issue. You swallow. Hard. And begin to arrange the words before you, in your mind’s eye. “Would you still want me if I wasn't Thor's?” 

He takes a painfully long time to answer. The silence, deafening, suffocating. Horrible.

Strangers sleeping together. United by lies and trickery.

“Maybe not before. But now? Certainly. I wouldn't give you up so easily. Would a dying man pass on a goblet of water?” He asks. 

Your brows furrow. Joining thoughts together currently on a tangent. “No?” You decide. 

“No.” He says, mocks your words from mere hours ago and then makes a noise of approval and you hear the bedsheets shift around him. “Now, stop worrying and go to sleep.” 

“Do you want me to stay the night?” 

“Always.” 

*****************************

Come midnight and you scurry off to yours and Thor's bedroom for the remainder of the evening. It would be rude not to and you had to keep up the facade of blushing Princess and bride to be for yours and Loki's sakes.  
When you get there you find him, heavy plate armour and robes, and capes all gone. Only the man underneath. Wearing a pair of loose night garments kept up by his hips. 

He greets you and you smile back at him. Conversation with Thor was easy, not a obstacle course, unlike that with some. 

“You looked beautiful tonight.” He says. Honest, good-natured and it brings a smile to your lips. 

“Thank you, my lord.” He wasn't wrong. Your handmaids had brushed and curled your hair into tumbling waves. Your dress, made from the finest velvet. It was the first time in a long while you'd felt beautiful. 

His eyes stay on you a little too long to be anything but good-natured. “Are you wanting something?” You ask. Always brave. Never fearless. 

A lioness with a lion. 

He kisses you. 

His lips have always been soft. A contradiction to the rest of him. You reach to cup his cheek, beard bristling under your fingertips and his long hair brushing against the soft swell of your breast. 

It wasn't...horrible. Just different. So different.

Loki was lean and lithe. The child of a shadow and a knife. 

Whereas Thor was not. 

Thor's large hands grip your backside through your thin slip pulling you against his hard body, selflessly finding yourself leaning into him. Your hands find his neck, finding purchase in the thick muscle you find there. His skin, so soft and warm, sun-kissed and healthy from all of his adventures.

He cups your face in one large palm and tilts your head back to better kiss you. He's warm and wet as he trails kisses down your face and throat. Leaving a glistening trail behind. 

He stumbles upon the sweet, tender bundle of nerves snug between your collarbone and throat. 

You gasp sharply, and he chuckles against your skin. “Oh, Hel... Do that again.” You groan out. 

And to your horror, he starts to retreat. You try to grab onto his arm but he dodges your hands and brings one of them to his mouth instead. “My lady, I find myself asking you to give me something. Something you can't give any other man afterwards.” 

There’s only one thing he’s talking about. And Loki already took it and then some.  
You reach for him again and this time he lets you. “Consider it yours, my love.” 

Lies. So damn many.

You run your hands over him, over his hard pectorals, dipping stomach muscles and lower. 

A slow smile creeps onto his face. “As long as your sure?” 

You can't deny you love seeing him look at you like that. Waiting, wanting. “I am.”

You toe off your shoes, simple, dainty things made of lace made for traversing the palace and her many rooms. You take his hands in yours as you lead him to the edge of the bed, sprawling and crimson and golden. He tightens his grip on your fingers before you can lower yourself down. He lifts you up like you weight nothing. And you squeal despite yourself. Would his parents hear you? Would Loki? Would he be jealous? 

He kneels on the bed and pulls you down onto him. In his position you were almost nose to nose. Maybe that's why he did it. 

His hands rise to your chest and start rubbing circles on your breasts, starting painfully close to your nipples then spiralling out. 

You close your eyes, the sensation becoming too much and not enough all at once. 

He peels the thin straps of your nightgown and returns his attention to your now bare breasts. 

You hear him inhale sharply, ghosting his hands over you like you were a forbidden treasure he cannot touch. “May I be the first to say, you look perfect, ravishing. I am going to take my time with you.” 

He drags his thumbs down over your nipples, sensing them jerks once out of his hands and he groans at the sight. 

You wonder as to who Thor usually sleeps with. Wenches from the tavern? Fine ladies and royals? 

He states to knead your breasts, his knuckles whitening as he gnaws on your neck. One of his hands begins a descent down your body, stopping at the top of your thighs and stilling between them. Asking for permission. Freely, you give it. 

You tell yourself it’s diplomatic.

It’s what Loki would want you to do. 

Wouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell a little in love with Thor when writing this. I had to be 'neutral writer' not 'Loki fangirl' for this. And it worked. Only I think it worked a little too well...
> 
> Whoops


	4. Mischief

You wake to the amber glow of dawn moving across the room. Your body aches in the way you had come to know all too well. Telling a tale of the adventures the night before. Thor had been loving and gentle, had even watched you while the two of you made love. Told you-you were beautiful, told you he was so delighted you were his and his alone. 

Only he was wrong. He couldn't be more wrong. 

You belonged to another and that you were no-ones. 

Your mind turns to Loki and his wit and his charm, the feel of his cold hands to the way your stomach flips to when you see him without him noticing you. You had spun a web of lies even the king of lies would be ashamed of. And the worst part? No-one knew of your predicament; you had no one at your back, no shield nor army. You and you alone had laid the foundations and built your lies tall. 

Thor's warm hand makes a journey down the notches of your spine and your skin tingles from the minimal contact. Obviously pleased you had stayed the night. 

You take breakfast in the solar, Thor insists on holding your hand and touching and kissing on the journey. You batt his hands away, embarrassed and anxious about who might see. 

You enter first, hands by your sides, demonstrating a quick curtsey to the King and Queen before taking your seat opposite Loki. And next to the vacant seat for his brother. 

Loki does his best to greet you, gives you a mischievous smirk before moving to serve himself seeing as no one else was doing it. 

Thor thunders in soon after, distancing his arrival from yours for several moments as per your suggestion as to not arouse suspicion. He booms about how brightly the sun shines and how his sleep had been the best slumber he had experienced in centuries. You find yourself having to stifle a laugh, looking up from your plate you find Frigga doing a little of the same. 

…………

Your day is promptly filled with horse riding lessons, taught none other than the sweet lady Sif. In a darker, more lightweight leather garb and hair scraped up, off her face. She leads the horse with a slack rope while you get used to the movement.

Every Princess must learn to ride. 

She grins and praises you at every achievement you make, obviously proud to be a good tutor, and you, her intelligent student.  
Baring no ill towards you, yet clearly having some history with your husband to be. You wonder as to her kindness and if it was all a farce or was born or truth.  
Your mare snorts and brays, as you grow accustomed to her heavy body, her strong legs, her thick and rough mane. 

Sif eventually lets you walk untethered, not confident yet to gallop or canter, you walk the circumference of the palace gardens, Sif trailing behind on her stallion. 

You feel his eyes on you without even having to turn around. You had ridden him particularly hard, for reasons known only to you. Filling yourself with him instead, in all ways made sense to you. Diminishing Thor and his efforts, cleansing and breaking what you both had done together. Apologies and guilt, also, known only to your own mind. Jaw slack and sated, time crawls by within the sugar-coated bliss. “I love you.” You say carefully, to yourself more than to him, the vowels feeling jagged on your tongue, horrible and wrong. 

“Oh, I know that.” His mouth twists into an arrogant grin and you suddenly want to smack the life out of him. He begins to trace the outside on your thigh with the backs of his fingers, something he knew you enjoyed, oh, so much.

“No!” You whine a pitiful sound, pushing his hand away. You look around the room as if the four walls and furniture would supply with courage. “You don’t.”

He holds your gaze for several uneasy moments, unblinking. “Has something happened?”

“I don’t want to tell you...yet.” 

He keeps a hand at the small of your back, moves to sit up and holds you against him, how he could flit from aroused, enraged and curious baffled you at times and probably refusing to rule out another bout between the sheets. 

This time, he reaches to touch your arm, a reassuring familiar gesture. 

“As long as you know what you’re doing?”

 

 

 

“I slept with Thor.” You say tightly. 

His back stiffens, and in the pale, cold moonlight, you can only make out the outline of his angular face. Hard and taught. “How so?” He asks, effortlessly. 

“What?” You say, unable to hear him over your own beating heart.

“How so?” He repeats. “How did you sleep with him?” His voice is wavering, yet controlled, slick and it almost scares you. Your heart, racing for all the wrong reasons. 

“I rode him like a horse...till I broke him,” you say. Lies. Thick. Never ending. 

His face finches. Like a mouse caught in a trap. Loki turns back to face you, his face unreadable. Of all your time spent together, you had barely cracked the surface of the man. 

He pinches the hem of your dress and it feels like an eternity passes before he speaks again your eyes water. Ragnarök comes and goes. The moon waxes and wanes but the time between you stays the same.

“You wear his colours, a reflection of your heart, I wonder? Hmm?” He wasn’t wrong. You'd chosen to wear a clinging dress, made out of the finest blue silk, cut in a sweetheart neck and flowing sleeves, with a scarlet wrap around your arms. 

“Stop it.” Your chest tightens while your mouth runs dry, you close your eyes, refusing to look at him and the betrayal on his face. 

Your stomach twists into what feels like a figure eight, the corners of the walls pressing down on you. you want to leave, to run and never ever look back, and snap to somewhere else in the nine realms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know how to write the scene between Loki worrying over your relationship and then the time between you telling him, I could have written anything, a feast, another ball, an invasion of Jotuns(?) etc, anything. But I think I like leaving it blank, it says a lot without saying hardly anything. <3
> 
> you, the reader knows there's time happened between those two important scenes but I'm not exactly saying what! #bearwithmeplz 
> 
> R


	5. Mayhem

“Princess.” He says, non-committal. Your spine prickles and you act on sight of him at the corner of your eye. 

“Loki.” you reply, flatly as you face the archway leading to the little courtyard where The Warriors Three train with various weapons on some unfortunate Einherjar. 

In the distance, Thor announces something in his booming voice, the plump Volstagg and Lady Sif laugh and close in to add their thought on whatever joke he just shared. While the others train proudly, humbled by both yours and Thor's appearance. When you first approached, Fandral had waved and bowed at your presence, typical, you had thought. 

“You're more powerful than all of them combined.” His voice is like a lullaby, and his words are a poem. “You know it to be true.” Voice suddenly higher, you hear the wetness of his tongue and you turn to look at him. Only to find him staring. 

“And is this the part where I say “It's all thanks to you”? Or something similar?” You quip, with difficulty, in the sunlight his skin is paler and his eyes are brighter. Someone so infuriating shouldn't be so beautiful. 

“It wouldn't go amiss.” He grates. Your turn yourself back to face the Warriors and their efforts. Unlike them, you didn't need to practice. You didn't have to correct your posture nor need to watch your centre of gravity or shift in balance. Your mind was your weapon and Loki had taught you to use it. And he knew it. 

“Have you been well?” He asks and your fists clench at your sides, mercifully disguised by the flowing sleeves of your dress. Was this the game he was playing now?

“I have.” You say, resisting the urge to bite the inside of your mouth. 

You hear a thud and look up to see the start of a commotion amongst all the armoured bodies, in the sea of gleaming silver and gold, you make out the figure of a very smug lady Sif helping a less than graceful Fandral off the ground with one hand, spear in the other.   
They grin at each other with admiration and understanding and your stomach twists with jealousy. 

Lest, Loki had treated you as a person and Princess in equal parts. Appearing to be the only person who had fathomed you could be both. Comforted by the ties of your past and dazzled by the prospect of becoming royalty. Maybe he saw a little of himself in you. Maybe he had sought an ally instead of a lover the first time the both of you had met. 

“Belligerent fools.” He grinds, reminding you of his presence and your skin prickles, becoming increasingly aggravated.

“Why are you here?” You fully turn to look at him now. 

“You know why,” through the material you feels the backs of his fingers trace your elbow and forearm. Heavy and gentle. 

“No.” You bite, sharply, teeth clenched together around unspoken words as you wrench your arm from his, your dagger is in your hand and at arm's length in a split second, a lethal diamond in the raw sunlight, your chest, tight like your corset had been laced too tight, knowing fine well it hadn’t. 

“Go on then,” he half whisper as he, unfazed and leans in so the tip of the knife stresses the leather. “I'd like to see if you can.” He says, calmly, kindly, like a gentle breeze. He takes a step forward, forcing you to bend your elbow towards yourself. “Right here.” He instructs and grasps your fist and the hilt of the dagger, up and round into his throat, the top, now pressed right into his main vein, ready to gush precious scarlet. 

“No! Stop it!” You hiss between heavy breaths and your eyes water. Voice strangled and horse from strain. At this distance Thor wouldn't be able to see you. But hear you? “Why can't you find someone else?” The words are agony, wanting the easier path is not foreign to you even if it meant sacrificing someone else’s happiness.

“Because I don't want someone else. I want what I already have.” He snarls to you, much like if you were a child.

“But she belongs to another...” You lower the dagger, it suddenly such an offensive thing as your eyes fill with hot, angry tears. Born of hatred and misery, of yourself and the both of the them, the beauty of Asgard and the emptiness it holds for you. “Go find Amora. ”

“Amora,” he echoes, like he was trying the name when the skin between his brow wrinkles. “Why, so I can expect a dagger in my back?” He scoffs. Emphatic, he tilts his head to one side where you had left a benign but small mark.  
True friends stab you in the front….

“You two have...history, though.” The word feels heavy, and your lips move around it like it would hurt you. 

He snorts loudly. “Pleasant isn’t exactly what I would care to call it.”

You don't say anything, too ashamed to be crying, too hurt by his words. “Let me go,” you say, and he looks at you questionably like you crying in his presence offends him.

“No.” He says, sharply. You squirm to try and get away but to no avail his grip only tightens and your feeble attempts fail miserably. He's so close, you can feel his hot breath on your face, smell the leather.

“Thor loves me.” You say. 

“Rightly so,” he half smiles and he slips the dagger in your thigh scabbard, a thin, slight thing no bigger than your hand. He traces the girth of your thigh, around the underside where the skin was paler, more sensitive. His hand twists so his knuckles touch you instead. “You deserve to be loved.” And just like that he vanishes, leaving you wanting, eyes wet and waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta Aerith Mon Kishu for the uber quick beta and well wishes!


End file.
